Bound
by Winniefred101
Summary: Alfred Jones is a comic book artist, and Arthur Kirkland is a wanna-be novelist that owns a failing bookshop where Alfred holds an autograph session. Repost from DeviantArt, USUK. Nothing graphic, and decently fluffy.
1. Leather Bound

There is a little bookshop on the corner between Ivyline St. and Darthington Rd. that is owned by a young man named Arthur Kirkland. He's 5' 9", or 5" 9' as he writes, because he is from England and in my opinion, they do everything backwards there. Instead of putting month, day, year; they put it in the wrong order. This has led to countless confusions where I've booked plane trips and then shown up months early- he always laughs at me. And by he, of course, I am referring to the aforementioned Arthur.

I remember the afternoon we met. I, Alfred Jones, was doing an autograph session at Bound, much to Arthur Kirkland, the owner's, dismay. I walked up to the desk a few hours before it began, and decided to say hello...

===

"Hey, Sir, I'm Alfred, and I'm supposed to be doing a signing here this afternoon," I said, extending my hand. He looked up from his small, black journal, shoved it away, and sighed.

"You were supposed to be here at 12:00," he said, his upper-class accent showing through. I couldn't tell if that was just how he sounded, or if he was angry. "It's 16:00 now."

I stood up straight, scratching the back of my head. "Well, I just flew in from America last night, so I had a little bit of jet lag and then I couldn't figure out how your time-"

"Well, if you're as renowned an artist as everyone says you are, I should be able to assume you know how to work an alarm clock," he said, standing up and walking brusquely around his desk to where I stood. Annoyance. Definitely.

"Sorry, dude," I began, pushing up my glasses and taking a step backward. "First time out of the country for me... overseas autograph sessions are a lot more confusing than Mattie said they would be."

"Dude?" he asked, furrowing his eyebrows. Now that I noticed, they were actually quite thick, but something told me he wouldn't appreciate me commenting. I was about to explain that 'dude' was American slang, but he cut me off. "Nevermind that. Just... take your asinine comic books and wait for the fans to show up." He gestured to a stack of boxes by the corner of the shelf labeled "Biographical." I almost wanted to comment on how my comics weren't asinine, they were awesome, but the same little voice in my head told me he didn't want to hear it.

I grabbed the boxes, moving them over to a little table by the door in groups of two. They were pretty heavy, so I wanted to ask if the owner could help me carry them, but when I looked around, he was gone.

When my time slot finally came around, the shop filled up. It was pretty small, and I wondered why Matt chose such a small place- usually my signings got lots more people than this. Still, different country, I guess. People in the UK are less likely to want to read about superheroes fighting for America. Eventually, the crowd died down, and I was left with only a few people who were sticking around and asking me questions.

"How long does it usually take to finish one panel?" a brunette boy of about ten asked, handing over his copy of The Heroics of Foxboy."A few hours, or more?"

"It depends," I said, laughing and leaning back. "I have to draft it, then do the lineart, then color it... it'd say it takes between an hour and a few days, depending on how large it is, the complexity, and how much I already have planned."

"That must take a lot of time," his mother said, putting her hands on her son's shoulders. "How did you know you wanted to do this for a living?"

"Well, I've always loved heroes," I explained, "so when I was seven I decided to try my hand at it- I haven't given up since."

The boy beamed, nodded, and was led away by his mother, talking enthusiastically about how he wanted to do the same when he grew up- I could tell his mother wasn't thrilled with the idea, but I didn't sweat it. I think if it's your true calling, you'll end up doing it anyway- no matter what anyone else thinks.

After the last of the people left, I realized how empty the bookshop was without all of my fans. Was it always this way? Now that I thought about it, when I'd walked it, it was completely empty, though the door said "Come in- We're Open!"

The owner had returned to his desk, and was working on something that looked pretty important. Quickly, I pulled one of the last remaining books from the box and scribbled "To Mr. Kirkland- thanks for letting me use your space!" on it. It wasn't the most well thought-out gift, but it wasn't bad either.

I handed it to him with one of my smiles, and he looked at it disdainfully. Still, after a moment, he smiled, accepting it. Suddenly distracted, he grabbed some papers from his desk. "These are for you- a boy named Matthew called saying that he needed them given to you right away."

I took the papers, rifling through them. "I thought I forgot these- thanks, dude," I said, "anyway, I've gotta get goin' for now. I'll seeya around!"

He nodded, turning around and pushing in his chair as I left. I don't know why, but I felt a little bit sorry for the guy, his shop being so empty. It wasn't a bad place. The atmosphere was really pretty nice- plants and stuff like that. I told myself that next time I visit, I should try to buy something there.

My cell phone buzzed, and I saw I'd gotten a text from Kiku. I smiled, excited to see my Japanese friend again that I almost didn't notice that he'd tossed my autographed comic into the trash can.

===

"You shouldn't have been so hard on him," I said to myself, writing furiously. I couldn't shake the image of his face from my head after I'd called his comics asinine- I mean, I've seen them, and they are, but did I have to say it out loud?

I groaned, remembering that what's done is done, and I can't really go taking it back now, can I? After all, he's gone. And I'll never see him again. Not like it mattered. "Anyway, if I never see him again, he'll never have to make me feel bad about being such a brat."

The shop closed a few hours ago, and I was sitting curled up in one of the plush chairs in the corner of the fiction section. My spot was just out of view from the street, just in case someone didn't get the hint it was closed, and so I could write in peace. It was approaching midnight, and I stood up to officially close up shop and go home.

I put my journal away into my desk, locking the drawer with the key I kept in the register. Just as I was about to go, I heard a tapping at the door.

It was the American comic artist. "Oh God, not you again," I thought, suppressing the urge to roll my eyes. I went to the door, opening it a little crack. "We're closed."

"Yeah, sorry man," he said, his bright blue eyes a little sad. "But... in that pile of papers ya handed me earlier, I think some of the stuff was yours."

My eyes widened, and I tried my best to act composed even though I knew I was blushing. "...was it? Oh... I... um... it may have been a mistake," I tried to say, letting him inside. "What was it?"

"The beginning of a story, I think," he said, handing me the mess of papers. Definitely mine, no doubt about it. Scanning the words, I breathed a sigh of relief- it wasn't the stuff I was ashamed to have written. "It's really good, actually. I hope you don't mind, but I may have read a little of it with my friend while we were supposed to be reviewing the manuscript."

I pulled the papers back a little bit instinctively, but then set them on my desk. "Ah... well.. thank you for returning them," I said, trying to wrap up our conversation and get him out the door. "Now-"

"I actually really like your protagonist, Annabelle," he continued, not catching my hint. "She sort of reminds me of a friend of mine. Really strong willed, and a little sarcastic..."

"Thanks," I said, leaning back on the desk. I was about to shoo him away, but he kept going.

"I think I've got a picture of her in the back of that book I gave you-" he said, standing up and picking it up out of the rubbish bin. He looked at it a little bit sadly, but then handed it over. Mentally, I reminded myself not to throw gifts away at the place where I receive them. He was probably completely pissed at me now- why am I such a jerk? "Turn to page 183," he instructed.

I did, and he pointed to a girl in her twenties with a long, brown braid and dark skin, sitting at a desk in a cubicle before the building was smashed. "She's nothing like Annabelle," I pointed out, "she has an office job, for one thing..."

"Well... occupation isn't everything," he said, "honestly, I put her there because I needed a face to put in one of the panels. Still, she's a good friend. You guys would get along. Now that I think about it, she wouldn't be the kind of person to work at a large corporation anyway!"

He was surprisingly kind to me for someone who had just realised I had thrown away his book, so I was a little bit confused. Then it hit me: he wanted an apology, and he deserved one.

"Heh," I said, trying to change the topic. "Anyway, I'm sorry for throwing your comic away," I said, flipping through the colourful pages. "I just... I don't really like this sort of thing."

He sighed. "That's fine, dude," he said, doing his best with my shabby apology. "So... are you a writer? 'Cause my cousin really likes that kind of thing, but he hasn't mentioned you-"

"No- not really," I said, cutting him off and mentally cursing my life. "I... I don't publish my stories or anything..."

"Well... why not?" he asked, moving so he was standing beside me. "They're really good!"

"It's not my fault they don't get published, you moron," I said to myself. I realised that was a pretty terrible thing to say, so instead, I simply said, "I just don't think they're worth it sometimes."

"If you love it, then of course it's worth it!" he said immediately, as if it was his catchphrase. Now that I think about it, didn't I hear him tell a little boy that earlier? I groaned. "I can try to talk to my publisher if you want."

"Um... but... don't you work for a comic book company?" I asked. "They may be reluctant to publish a novel."

He sighed. "I guess you're right..."

"Thank you for the offer, though- it's very kind of you," I said, putting the manuscript into my drawer. "I... I have to go home and make sure Peter got to sleep alright." Lame excuse, I know.

"You've got a son?" he asked, clearly a little bit surprised.

"No," I said, "he's my little brother. Usually he's off at boarding school, but he's back for winter break," I said, glancing to the clock. Almost 1 AM. Drat. I picked up my bag, rifling through it to make sure I had everything. "And... thank you again for the book," I said.

He nodded. "Do you want to take it to Peter or something? If not, I'll just end up selling it, probably," he said, looking it over.

The idea had never occurred to me. "Um, yeah, actually," I said, taking it and looking at the cover. "That's a great idea... he really likes this sort of thing."

Alfred smiled. "'Kay, then. Tell him I say hi!"

"I will," I nodded, opening the door and letting him out before me. "Goodbye, Mr. Jones."

"Bye, dude," he said, waving a little bit. "And don't be afraid to send your stuff off to publishers."

I was so busy walking in the other direction that I nearly missed that last part, but not busy enough. "That isn't the problem, moron," I said under my breath.


	2. London Bound

I only had a week to explore London, and that was between signings and dinners Matthew had planned. I'd already used a day, and although time with Kiku and Mr. Kirkland had been fun, I couldn't help but feel like I hadn't really seen the city yet.

The view from my hotel was great. The buildings here weren't as tall as in New York, like I was used to, so I could see over most of their rooftops. Over in the distance, Big Ben was ticking away and the London Eye was just waiting for me to ride it.

I remembered when I visited Matthew before he moved to America; he'd taken me on a Ferris wheel in Canada. It was cool- the compartments were closed off and I didn't have to worry about falling out or anything. It's not that I'm afraid of heights; I just don't like them much.

So, I decided to go out and explore London. After all, a lot of the city is tourism, so it shouldn't be too hard to find my way around. Most tourist cities make themselves pretty idiot-proof, which is a bit annoying if you live there normally, but not bad if you're visiting.

I wasn't too far from the heart of the city, so I decided to walk instead of hailing a taxi (or a cab? Would I shout "cab" here?). Bad move. A few minutes into my walk, it began to rain. I didn't mind at first, because I had my jacket and stuff, but after a while I was getting completely soaked and there was nothing I could do.

I ducked my head under an awning and decided to wait it out. No, it wasn't comfortable, and it wasn't really all that dry, but I wasn't going back until the rain let up and there wasn't anywhere else to go. All the taxi's I saw were already full, and I didn't have anyone to call.

I don't know how long I was there, but I decided that this place wasn't much fun. I mean, maybe it would be if I brought an umbrella, but my bomber jacket doesn't really like rain all that much and doesn't even have a hood. My hair probably was starting to frizz now that it was beginning to dry, and my glasses wouldn't stop fogging up.

Eventually, the rain began to lessen, and I decided to just walk back to the hotel. Who knows? It may rain even harder when I want to get home, and my spirits were dampened enough for me to not really care about seeing it anyway.

==

"Morning, Peter," I said at about 10:00. "Did you sleep well?"

He nodded, rubbing the sand from his eyes. Usually so energetic, I was surprised he was so tired. "Mmmhm."

"What time did you get to bed last night?" I asked him.

He looked away. "Sort of late."

I groaned. "Peter, you're twelve. Thirteen in less than a week. Can't you get to bed when you're supposed to?"

"Sorry," he said, "I was busy watching The Avengers," he explained. Ever since that movie came out, he's been obsessed with the original TV show.

"That reminds me," I said, going to my satchel. "This is for you. The author came by and did a book signing at the shop yesterday," I said, handing him a copy of _Leeroy Hawking and Spider_. "He said to give it to you."

His eyes widened. "Really?"

I nodded. "I don't really get it, but he seemed pretty insistent." Not exactly true, but it was making Peter happy. "I was going to give it to you as a birthday gift, but I think you can have it now."

He began to jump in the air, hugging it tightly. He was getting a little bit too old to do that, and it was starting to shake the floor. "Thankyouthankyouthankyou!" he said, hugging me tightly. "I've got to go tell Raivis!" he shouted, running downstairs.

I smiled, a little bit tired myself from my long night. Usually, by now, I would be at the shop, but it opened late on Thursdays. I grabbed my umbrella from the coat closet, because I knew it was going to rain, straightened my tie, and shouted downstairs, "Peter! I'm going off to work now!"

He shouted something back in reply, but it sounded positive. I was glad he was finally so excited about making a friend, even if he was from another country. Latvia, to be exact. He was learning English, so Peter's ramblings were a good way for him to learn. It seemed like they got along rather well. Believe it or not, Peter didn't have many friends his age- despite his childishness, he was very smart (going to boarding school on scholarship), and sometimes made comments that were condescending. I knew that he didn't do it on purpose, but it still sort of bothered me that he couldn't be more social. I suppose he takes after me in that regard.

It wasn't too long a walk to get to the shop, but the streets were nearly empty. Normally I would have taken a cab because of the rain, but prices had been rising lately and I decided not to. I had enough problems with paying my own rent anyway, I didn't need another expense.

When I arrived at the shop, I could sense that it wouldn't be a busy day. After all, days weren't really busy anymore, were they?

Still, I unlocked the door and sat down at my desk, noticing that Alfred had left a small stack of leftover comics in the corner. Seeing as I didn't have anything else worth reading, I found myself flipping through them.

The characters were strangely well thought-out. They spent just as much time thinking about the consequences of their actions as saving the world, and I couldn't put them down. Eventually, after I'd finished the first, I moved to the second. Third. Fourth. Before long, it was past noon and I'd finished every one of them.

I returned the comics to the stack in case he came back for them, but I didn't think he would. The shop was even emptier than usual, which was worrisome. Still, I told myself that the weekend would be more busy, and took out my journal again.

Around a half hour later, someone came inside. A little bit wet around the edges, but clutching an umbrella, she smiled broadly. "Hello!"

I waved. "Hello, Miss. Can I help you find anything?" I asked, excited to finally have a customer.

"I'm looking for something for my sister- she's about fourteen," she said, thinking. "Her Christmas gift got lost in the mail, and it probably won't arrive until it's too late."

"Ah," I said, familiar with the situation. "What does she like?"

She scratched her head. "Well, her original gift was a journal… so maybe something along those lines?"

"She likes to write?" I asked, intrigued. "Well, we have a section for stationary and notebooks in the back."

She nodded, turning to the section labelled "paper." It wasn't a great gift, but it wasn't terrible, either. After buying it, she left me to my writing again.

After a few hours more of drafting, I began to think about Alfred again. If he did return for the books he left, I should apologize. Maybe even compliment him on his comics- they were quite good. The art, particularly. I tried to remember if he had said how long he'd been drawing, but I couldn't. Either way, I decided to try it myself.

I took out some paper from my notebook and began to sketch Annabelle. Ideally, I shouldn't have been using a pen, but I didn't really have a choice. After a few minutes, I had her face and hair done. It went slowly, and I was not at all satisfied with the result. After I'd finished the neckline of her dress, I realised that my sketch was complete crap.

I sighed, eyeing one of Alfred's books. After a few minutes, I opened it to the page he had mentioned before, trying to copy the drawing of the office worker down onto paper. It looked better than my other one, but not spectacular. I tried again. This one was worse. Again.

A few hours later, I had worked out a pretty nice picture. I wondered how he did that all on his own, without anything to base it off of. Suddenly, I remembered- he based the girl off of one of his friends.

I smiled, suddenly struck with an idea. I drew a slightly squared off oval, sketching in a hairline. Pretty soon, I had an almost recognizable sketch of Alfred Jones.

==

After I returned to my hotel room, it was obvious to me that I would need some sort of tour guide. I couldn't do this alone. I didn't know my way around, what to do, or how to understand a word half the people were saying. I sighed, looking out the window. The rain was letting up now. Just my luck.

I took out my sketchbook and began to draft. I was between projects right now, and didn't really have anything to draw, but it's a good way to clear my head. A few minutes later, after sketching out a girl, I realised that it resembled Annabelle.

I smiled, remembering the bits of the story that I had read. From what I gathered, she lived in a sort of Victorian London, and solved mysteries. Like a girl Sherlock Holmes. Liking this idea, I sketched her in one of those funny hats- a deerstalker, I think it was.

Suddenly, I had a good idea. I could call Mr. Kirkland. He didn't seem too busy, and I bet I could get him to show me around if I smiled extra nicely. Anyway, I'm pretty sure his bookshop is the only place I can find my way to and from in this town. I grabbed my sketchbook, an umbrella (even though it stopped raining, I wanted to play it safe), and my bomber jacket, smiling as I stepped out the door.

==

At about 17:00, I'd finally gotten a good sketch done. It was of Alfred, because his face stuck in my mind, and he was smiling. I was fairly proud of it, actually. I mean, compared to his comics, it was horrible, but compared to my first attempt at Annabelle, it was spectacular.

Anyway, it was a bit of a surprise to me when I looked up and saw Alfred himself standing at my desk. I hadn't even noticed him come in. I flipped the drawing over, seriously hoping that he hadn't seen it or recognised it, and leaned back. "H-hello again," I said, "you must be here for those books you left," I pointed to the small stack on the table. "There they are."

"Thanks," he said, nodding to me. "But… um… I was just wondering, could you show me around a little bit? I don't really know this place, and I don't speak… British…" he explained, the end of his sentence trailing off. "If you're busy, I totally understand…"

"You could always go to a tourism office," I offered, looking to the door. It was deserted out there.

"I… I'd rather not," he said, "I mean… I can pay you…"

I raised my eyebrows. The prospect of selling any more books looked rather grim, and if I could make some money this afternoon, I could possibly be able to make the payment for my rent. On the other hand, I didn't want to sound completely desperate for money, and honestly, Alfred was a little bit annoying. Still, I found myself agreeing. "Alright," I said, "I guess I can take this afternoon off."

"Thank you Mr. Kirkland," he said, smiling warmly. "It means a lot to me."

"My name is Arthur," I corrected him, shaking his hand. "I'm not a Mr., I'm only twenty-two."

"Well… I can't even drink yet, Arthur," he said, sighing. "Well, not in America, anyway. I'm twenty."

I nodded, laughing a bit at how awkward he was. "It's alright. Well, then I suppose we could go to a pub later…"

He nodded. "Okay. Awesome!"

"I read some of your comics," I said, opening the door and pulling the latch. "They weren't bad."

"Oh, really?" he asked, suddenly excited. "Which ones?"

"Er," I said, shrugging. "All of them."

He laughed. "Which ones were your favourites?"

"I don't know," I said, shrugging. "I sort of enjoyed the ones about the… the… what are they called?" I said, sighing. "The mystery ones."

"Foxboy?" he asked, "I love mysteries. They're the best."

"Is that so?"

==

Considering it was 17:00 to start with, we didn't have too much time to explore. He took me to the Tower of London first, but we didn't stay for too long. After a few hours, I admitted that he really wanted to go on the London Eye. He agreed, and we made our way back to town while he pointed out historical monuments and told me funny facts about history.

He told me over dinner that if he hadn't inherited the bookshop from his mother, he probably would have wanted to be a history teacher. "It's funny how plans change," he said, leading me past a small cafe. "Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I'd gone to college."

I didn't really press it, but it sounded like his parents had died when he was fairly young, and he'd been running the bookshop for a few years. I felt pretty bad for him- he was smart, that's for sure, but it seemed like what he really wanted was another chance.

Eventually, we reached the Ferris wheel. It looks much higher when you're so close to it than it does from a window a mile away. I bought us both tickets, and we got in line.

Since there wasn't much to do, he began to talk to me about comics and art. He admitted that he spent all afternoon trying to sketch, and I ended up showing him a few of the drawings I had done. He told me a little more about his characters, and by the time we got to board the Ferris wheel, we were having a deep discussion.

==

"Annabelle would make an awesome superhero," Alfred said as we stepped on board the London Eye. "She's got the attitude, intelligence, and everything!"

I laughed. "I don't think she's quite superhero material."

"Superheroine, then?" he asked, looking around our small compartment as it lifted into the air. "She could have the power… to… tell when someone is lying. That'd be a great power for a detective!"

I laughed. "I feel like superheroes don't fit well into the steampunk subculture," I added, looking over the city. "She's a heroine in her own way, though."

"Maybe I could make a comic about her," he said, walking up next to me and putting his hands on the glass. "She could be an awesome comic book character."

"I wouldn't mind," I said, "Peter would probably freak out…"

"Oh yeah, did he like the book?" he asked, looking down at me.

"Yes," I said, "he went off to tell his friend Raivis immediately."

"Raivis?" Alfred asked, "Whose that?"

"Oh," I said, looking down. We were still pretty close to the ground. "His pen-pal. From Latvia."

"Ah," he said, "I had a pen-pal once. That's how I met Kiku."

"Kiku?" I asked, sitting down.

"He's a friend of mine. He's sorta quiet, but I think you two would get along. He's a little older than you, and he's from Japan," he explained, "He's here earning his Doctorate's degree. I saw him yesterday."

I nodded. "What's he studying?"

"Art and marketing," Alfred said, "he's a great artist."

We idly chatted for the whole ride, about nothing particular. I didn't feel like I was his tour guide at all- at the end of the ride, I considered us friends. Which is fast, because I'd only known him for a day, but I felt the term still applied. We were far past acquaintances, at least. I learned that he was born in Virginia, he began drawing at the age of five, and that Matthew was his cousin and manager. Overall, he was much more interesting than I thought he would be.

By the time we got off, it was approaching 23:00, so we both decided to go our separate ways. He was mildly disappointed that he hadn't gotten to go to an authentic English pub, but didn't seem too put out. "Maybe we can do this another time."

"How long will you be in town?" I asked, thinking about my schedule.

"Another 6 days," he said, "geez, time flies."

"So… you're going to be here for Christmas?" I asked, slightly startled. "Won't you miss your family?"

"Nah," he said, "they're just a phone call away, after all. Oh well," he said, waving a bit. "I'll see you later, Arthur!"

"Goodbye, Alfred!" I called after him. I pulled on my red scarf, tightening it around my neck. I ended up refusing his offer to pay me, insisting that it was too much fun to be considered work. I doubt I lost any business, anyway. Now that I think about it, it was sort of like a date. Not that it was, because that would have been awkward.

I walked home, the cold finally beginning to set in. Christmas was in four days, after all- maybe, this year, we would get a white Christmas.


	3. Bound for Success

Somehow, the next day, I found my way back to Arthur Kirkland's bookshop. I didn't know why, exactly, but it seemed like a decent place to start.

"So," I said, standing in front of his desk. "Some of the big guys in the comic industry are having dinner tonight," I explained, putting my hands in the pockets of my damp jacket. "I... do you want to go? If you're serious about this graphic novel thing, then you'd probably be welcome."

"Really?" he asked, taking a few books off of one of the back shelves and moving them to the front. "Are you sure? I mean, if you're serious, then I'll go, but not unless you wouldn't be embarrassed-"

"Why would I be? I mean, you're pretty cool," I said, shrugging. "Honestly, having you around would make me look less like a kid."

He nodded, "so is it like a business meeting?"

"Well, Matthew set it up with me, so you may want to ask him for more details, but it'll basically be a bunch of important dudes talkin' about comics," I said, smiling. "I think you'll fit in just fine."

"Well... alright," he agreed, shelving the latest volumes. "I was thinking about it, and I really would like to see Annabelle turn into a comic."

"Awesome!" I said, "I started on the drafts, because I didn't have any other work to do." I pulled out my sketchbook, showing him a few sketches of the characters. He laughed, pointing out little errors in their hair and clothes. He was actually pretty cute when he was serious about something. We were just finishing fixing the hem of her dress when a customer came in.

He jumped at the chance to help someone, and left me to his desk. I flipped the page, and began to sketch Arthur, thinking about his features. In cartooning, it's important to think about what exactly is prominent in a face- in his case, his eyebrows were key, as well as his sharp jawline. Now that I thought about it, he was sort of pretty.

After a few minutes, he returned, muttering about how "no, he did not have a copy of The Island of Doctor Moree Eel." I snickered at the thought, showing him the sketch.

"Wow," he said, taking the sketchbook. "That's me?"

I nodded. "'Ya like it?"

He smiled. "It's... yeah, it's amazing. I drew a picture of you... but... it's terrible," he added, blushing a bit.

"Can I see it?" I asked, immediately intrigued. "I love it when people draw me!"

"It's really... really bad," he said, biting his lip. "I don't know."

"Please?" I asked. "I won't judge you I promise!"

"I... okay," he agreed, walking to his desk and opening the drawer. "Here."

It sort of resembled some pasta, but I didn't really mind. I told him it was good anyway. He probably didn't believe me, but I didn't care. The point was that he tried. For some reason, I thought that was really sweet of him. The mere fact that I'd gotten him to draw a picture was sort of cool. I looked down at him, and I could tell he was really embarrassed to have drawn it.

"It's... not really like you at all," he said disappointedly. "I just thought that you'd like it."

"I love it," I said, looking at it again. "May I keep it?"

"S...sure," he said, looking away. "Just... don't show it to anyone."

I laughed. "Your secret is safe with me."

==

There were a few more customers that afternoon, since it was Friday, but the majority of the time was spent drafting with Alfred. It seemed like this project may actually get off the ground- he promised he would mention it at his company's dinner. I was still a bit on edge about going to that, by the way. I mean, I had no doubts that I could carry on an engaging conversation about literature, but comics? I didn't want to make a fool out of Alfred.

Still, my hopes for this comic idea were higher than I thought they would be. Maybe, just this once, a writing project of mine wouldn't fail. I even found that working alongside Alfred could be fun, interesting, and even a little productive. His drawings were really something special. I decided to keep his sketch of me, by the way.

By the time 18:00 rolled around (or 6:00 as he called it), we were well on our way to drafting and my head was full of ideas for what could happen. It was nice to have someone to share my writing with, since I usually kept it locked away in a drawer where nobody could get to it. Still, my nerves about attending this meeting were a little on edge.

When we arrived, it was at a nicer restaurant than I'd probably ever been to. Alfred assured me that dinner would be on his company's tab, and that I shouldn't worry, but I still felt a little bit out of place in a simple green sweatervest and red tie. Alfred introduced me to his boss, an amiable man with a deeper voice than I ever thought possible, his bosses secretary, who looked just like everyone always imagines a secretary to look, and a few of his co-workers, one of which was the aforementioned Kiku Honda.

He was a quiet, short Japanese man in white, who mostly just sat there the whole time. I was informed that he had been appointed head of the new manga branch, which they had recently opened. I wasn't quite sure what manga was, but Kiku informed me that it was like comics, but Japanese, and I inferred the rest from conversation. He seemed very nice, if rather antisocial.

Dinner, on average, was surprisingly relaxed. Alfred's boss joked, Alfred laughed and told stories, and I had an interesting discussion with the secretary about Pride and Prejudice. I couldn't think to be worried, because nobody was acting like they were. There was one girl in particular; I believe her name was Elizabeta, who wrote some of the plotlines. She was nice enough, I decided, and she kept telling funny stories about her fiancée, Roderich.

Eventually, the conversation turned in our direction, and Alfred officially introduced me. "He's a writer," he explained. "We're thinking on working on a graphic novel together."

"What about?" asked Elizabeta, leaning forward. "Superheroes again?"

"No, no," Alfred said, "Arthur, why don't you try summing it up?"

"Oh," I said, looking away and thinking for a moment. I didn't expect to be put on the spot like this. "Well... I think it's going to be a little bit like Sherlock Holmes meets Alice in Wonderland in Steampunk," I explained, trying to make it sound less weird. "The heroine, Annabelle, falls to another universe where she becomes a detective, using her knowledge of the modern world to help her get along."

A Hispanic boy from across the table smiled. "That sounds really interesting- I bet we could get it published if you work at it."

"That's the idea," Alfred said, "I'm hoping that everyone else will like it as much as I do."

I was glad everyone was acting so supportive. I wasn't used to this, really, but I was excited to finally be on the inside. It seemed like getting published would be significantly easier now that I knew someone on the inside. Usually, when I sent in my manuscripts, they would be read over by a person I would never meet, whereas here, it was like we were sort of friends. This only raised my hopes of success.

==

In the past few days, our time together has become increasingly date-like. For instance, that night, after dinner ended, he walked me back to my hotel. I'm not sure why, but it seemed natural for both of us. He's sort of a gentleman, in his own way. I mean, he's a complete jerk sometimes, but when he wants to be, he's really quite kind.

"You did really well back there," I said, walking beside him and letting the snow fall on my face. "I was a little surprised."

He shrugged. "I was glad it was so relaxed," he confided, "I was worried it would be serious talk about comics and such, but in the end, it wasn't really a business meeting at all."

"You seemed to get along really well with Ms. Abbey," I said, smiling. "I think she really liked you."

"Oh," he said, looking away. "I..."

"What?"

He shifted his weight, stopping for a moment in the middle of the sidewalk. "I don't really swing that way, if you know what I mean."

"Oh," I said, putting my hand to my forehead. "I was wondering why you didn't have a girlfriend or something," I said, laughing a little. "Sorry... that's... awkward."

"It's fine," he said, laughing nervously. "I mean, how were you supposed to know?"

I sighed. "I'm really bad at reading people," I continued, shrugging. "I mean, I've known Mattie since we were in kindergarten, and he hated my guts until I was sixteen. I never even noticed."

"That long?" he asked, still looking at the ground. "He must be strangely tolerant."

I laughed. "He's a good guy, really. Just sort of quiet."

"I'm surprised at how many quiet friends you have," he said suddenly, beginning to walk again. "It seems like you're talkative."

"I... I guess," I said, not really knowing what he meant. "I mean, you're kinda quiet, but not as much as Kiku or Mattie."

The walk home was pretty short, but we made the best out of our conversation, barely mentioning the comic at all. It was almost scary how much we had in common for being so different. His dad died when he was pretty young, but his mother passed only a year and a half ago, whereas my parents split and I almost always lived with my dad. Still, it was nice having someone to relate that to, seeing as almost all of my friends back in the states had normal, non-split families. It was almost a relief to be the person who had the normal life.

When he led me to the door, of the hotel, we finally had to say goodbye. I briefly considered telling him that it was a lovely date and kissing him on the cheek, but I had managed to pick up on the fact that English people have more personal space needs than most of my friends. Plus, there was that whole thing where he came out to me, and I thought that he may think I was making fun of him or sending the wrong message. On the other hand, maybe that was the exact message I wanted to send.

"So, I'll see you tomorrow?" I asked, leaning against one of the revolving doors. "At the shop, same as today?"

He nodded. "We open early on Saturdays," he said. "8:00."

"Right," I said, "bye, Arthur!"

"Goodnight, Alfred," he said, waving and turning away. I trudged up to my room that night, exhausted by all of the walking, and fell immediately asleep.

==

I came home that night late and slightly soggy, the tips of my trousers dripping with melted snow. To my dismay, Peter was still awake, but he was chatting away with his Latvian friend about the comic book again. Apparently, it was sort of a big deal. I didn't really understand it.

"Oh, hey Arthur, where were you?" he asked, pushing back his computer chair and smiling.

"I was out at dinner, actually," I explained. "With that comic artist that signed your book."

"Woah, really?" he asked, suddenly really excited. "Why?"

"He's thinking about doing a collaboration with me," I said, happy to deliver the news to someone willing to listen. "He's going to draw one of the stories I'm writing."

Peter was infinitely overjoyed by this news, and it was a pain to get him to bed that night. Still, I drifted off without a hitch, dreaming of faeries and unicorns as I fell asleep.


End file.
